


Drunk Texts 4: Blame it on the Alcohol

by LearnToShareFeanor



Series: Drunk Texts [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Accurate portrayal of Alzheimer's, And Glorfindel may have developed a kink for body art, And also fashion-hopeless, And so grounded, And there is references to racism in this chapter, Arwen is always willing to help a sister out, As usual Erestor is a pottymouth, Bard doesn't have kids in this one, Don't believe me about the Arizona racist law? Look it up, Dwalin ain't got time for racism, Erestor is a person of color, Glorfindel and Erestor both try to get one another in bed, If you haven't guessed, Louisianan food, Main character POC. Guess I should've tagged that earlier huh?, Multi, Non Graphic, Ori is a fantastic tattoo artist. Totally., Should I just do 'reference to the Twins'?, Some non-con references but the character doesn't know if it actually happen or not., Sometimes things don't work out, Tauriel is in trouble, The Twins deserve their own tag, Which is delicious, Which is where Arwen comes in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6085831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnToShareFeanor/pseuds/LearnToShareFeanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel needs help getting ready for the dance, and calls in the cavalry- Arwen, the girl who always knows what to wear. She also gets up the courage to talk to her dad about Erestor, finally. What's going to happen to them, once the truth comes out? Erestor likes his body art, Glorfindel isn't sure, and they have another date. Set the same day and the day after chapter 10 of Archer's Notes. I highly recommend reading that chapter before reading this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tauriel

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for your patience with the whole update thing! This takes place the same day that Kili asks her out, and a few weeks after Archer's Notes began.

            “Arwen, I need your help.” Arwen is a prep- there’s no other way to put it. She always wears dresses or skirts, never gains weight, and cares more about the current fashion than anything else. Ordinarily, we would never have met. But she’s the Twins sister, and Aragorn’s girlfriend, and she’s surprisingly enough, not a bitch. I thought I could handle this on my own- but I was very, very wrong. I’ve been looking online for almost an hour, and I have absolutely no clue what to do. Seriously, I need to change her contact to “IN CASE OF FASHION EMERGENCY”.

            “Hi!” She nearly shrieks, and I’m pretty sure I can feel my eardrums bleed. “Hey, Tauriel, what do you need? If it gets me away from my brothers and my dad, I’m  _so_ in.”

            I laugh- I can’t help it, and say, “Please don’t scream, shriek, squeal, or make any other assorted loud, high-pitch noises.”

            She groans, and I can almost see her on the other end of the line, bouncing on the couch, or her bed, or wherever with her iPhone (complete with bright pink Hello Kitty case) up to her ear. “Fiiiiiiiiinnnnee. What do you need?”

             I snort at the whine, and prepare myself by holding my phone about a foot away from my face. “I’m going to the dance and I need help finding a dress!” I call in the general direction of it.

            She makes a series of noises that makes me worry for a second. “Arwen, are you okay?”

            “No!” She groans out. “I need to make high pitched squeaky noises! Do you know what colors you want-“

            “Green.” I blurt out, trying to cut her off before she starts listing things. I’m terrified that if she starts listing, I won’t be brave enough to go through this whole ‘dance’ thing. The dance isn’t for another two weeks, but I’ve got no idea what goes into the whole preparation thing. Ask me to get ready to go on a two-week long hunt with no electricity or running water? I’m your girl. Want me to put a guy flat on his ass in 2.5 seconds flat? No problem. Get ready for the school dance- which is our replacement for prom? Help!

            “Tau, you  _always_ wear green. But green does look good on you, I mean it brings out the color in your eyes. Red would do that too, but –“ I listen to her drone on about how redheads can’t wear anything with red or pink, and what colors would go good or very, very bad with me, and there’s a certain amount of hopelessness.

            “Arwen?” I ask, interrupting her when she gets on the subject of what bra to wear under what kind of dress. “Can you just- I don’t know- help me pick something out? I’ve got no clue what I’m doing.”

            She’s silent for a second, and then she breaks out the no-nonsense voice- the one that leaves you no doubt that Mr. Elrond is her dad. “Tauriel whatever-your-middle-name-is Columbine, have you never went to a dance?”

              I can’t really deny it- I mean, I have, but I doubt crazy uncle Fëanor’s birthday (before he got arrested, of course) counts. “Not really, but-“

            “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Are you free this Saturday?”

            “Um, yeah, but-“

            “Meet me downtown- the mall doesn’t have crap that I’ll let you wear to the dance- and we’ll go shopping. If you end up a masterpiece, I demand pictures for my portfolio.”

            That’s one thing we both have in common, and I can respect her for it. She wants to get married (preferably to Aragorn), but she wants her own independence, too, and she’s already got 3 different colleges in line for art school. She wants to be a fashion designer, and honestly, it’s something that I can see Arwen doing. “Okay, sure. What time?”

            “Noon. That way, we can get lunch before we start! It’s going to be a long day, fair warning.” She warns in a sing-song tone, and hangs up. Well. It looks like I’ve got my day planned out for me.

            There’s a slam out in the yard, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing, and I go figure I might as well get it over with. “Dad?” I yell.

            “Yeah?” He responds, and there’s the click of the fridge opening, followed by the sound of it closing. I’m still sitting on my bed, laptop in hand.

            “Think you could drop me off downtown on Saturday?” I ask, finally shutting the lid and getting up. I meet him at the bottom of the staircase.

             “Sure.” He says, with a shrug. “What’s happening downtown?”

            I mimic him with a shrug of my own. “Lunch and apparently shopping with Arwen.”

            He freezes, and I can tell when I’ve tripped it- the Dad Alarm. “Who’s the boy?” He asks in a completely different tone than what I’m used to.

             “Dad, it’s just Arwen, I promise.” He relaxes a little, and I figure it might be best to get it out of the way now. “But I did get invited to the dance, and I kinda said yes?”

            He looks at me in that weird way that parents have- you know, when they stare into your soul and know  _exactly_ what’s going on with you? “Uh-huh. That’s nice. So who’s the boy- or girl, I don’t care.” Suddenly he makes a face. “Wait, is it Arwen? ‘ Cause I could’ve sworn she was with Aragorn a week ago.”

             “No, no, it’s not Arwen, she’s just helping me pick stuff out. It’s one of the guys from the team. Name’s Kili.” And I’m suddenly regretting leaving my room, because the Dad Stare has intensified.

             “I thought you weren’t interested in any of the guys from the team. Wait, is it the new guy? The one who transferred over mid-semester?” 

            “Yeees.” I answer, dragging it out a little. “And he’s nice, I promise!” I defend, taking one step back onto the stairs.

            He follows with a step of his own. “Yeah? Well, I’ll take you downtown- but you’ve got to give me the down-low on him.” And then the Dad Stare is over, and he’s back to normal, happy dad. “So, I know I bug you about grandkids because I’m not getting any younger, but please wait until  _after_ college.”

             “Yeah, whatever.” I agree, rolling my eyes. “So where did you go after taking Legolas back? You were gone for like, 3 hours.” The maid (I kinda hate calling her a maid, she’s really nice and no-nonsense) had left almost an hour ago. Besides, maids are daily people, and Dad just has her come in once a week.

            He made some weird non-committal noise that I  _swear_ guys have perfected, and finds himself a seat on our couch. He absentmindedly reaches for a remote, and I perch on the armrest behind him. “Dad?”

            “I went to check on the gym. The new morning manager is doing pretty good, I might just start looking for a night one too in a few months.”

             “Uh-huh. And?”

            He rolled his eyes at me, and in return, I flicked his nose. “Alright,  _mom_ , I had a date with a hot guy. Well, not a date really, just went on a jog.”

             “Erestor?” I ask, that uneasy feeling returning.

            “Yep.” He answers, popping the ‘p’. Suddenly, Dad Alarm tripped again- maybe it was the way I tensed up, maybe it was nothing at all. “You seemed a little uncomfortable after lunch a few weeks back, too. Anything I need to know about?”

            I toss a strand of hair out of my face to stall. “You know, he’s just- like, really young.” I answer, hoping that it distracts him. Whatever he’s doing with Erestor, he seems to be way happier than he was  _before_ he started doing it, so I’m not going to try and do anything to ruin it.

            He laughs a little, shocking me. “Yeah, he does look like jailbait, doesn’t he? Don’t worry, Sweetie, he’s 24. I mean, I know he’s a little closer to your age than mine, but- that doesn’t bother you too much, does it?” He asks, looking up at me again.

             “No, it’s fine. Just wanted to make sure, you know?”

            He nods. “Yeah. And what else, because I know that face you’re making, and that’s not all.”

            Damn. It’s so much easier to try and lie to him on the phone. And suddenly, it’s all coming out. “He was friends with the Twins back when he went to Erebor, and he kinda got in a lot of fights and stuff. I mean, he seems totally different now, but he used to be a total psycho.”

            He nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t know about the Elladan and Elrohir thing, but he told me he used to act out a lot when he was younger. Anything else I need to know?”

            I gnaw on a lip, before groaning. There’s no way to avoid it now, so I might as well not try. “Elrohir borrowed his motorcycle to cheat on his girlfriend with this bitch out West, and he’s an alcoholic.” 

            My dad is painfully silent for a second before sitting up. “I figured out the alcoholic part easily enough. But what is this about ‘Dan and ‘Ro? It sounds a little like Elrohir stole his bike or got it from him while Erestor was drunk.”

            I huff. “Dad, I don’t know! The Twins went crazy, and Elrohir went 10 times crazier than his brother. They got-“ I haven’t told him this yet, and I wasn’t sure when I would, but now seems like a good enough time. “They got kicked off the team.”

            He put a hand over his face and sighed. “So this is why you made plans? No late night team practices, since you’re not going to State.”

            “Yeah.” I confirm softly.

            He groans again. “Okay. Look, he works on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I’m not going to interrupt him for this. But I’ll talk to him, I promise.”

            “Thanks. Sorry about this.”

            “It’s fine. What’s _not_ fine is how long you’ve been skulking around the house and jumping every time I talk about him. How long have you known about this?”

            “About Dan and Ro, and the bike incident? I just found out like a week ago- when you bitched Mom out at the hospital.”

            He tugs at a clump of hair, and it makes me uncomfortable to see strands of silver mixed with the gold. “Great. And about Erestor in general?”

            “I didn’t know it was the same guy.” I object before answering, knowing it won’t make much of a difference. My Dad is more lenient than my Mom, but he doesn’t like being kept out of the loop on things.

            “How long, Tauriel Marie Columbine?” Oh shit. He broke out the middle name.

            “I realized it was the same guy that night we went out to lunch after Legolas was admitted. But I just didn’t want to ruin a good thing-“

            “You are _beyond_ grounded, young lady.” There’s no arguing with that tone, but I try anyway.

            “Dad, really, it’s-“

            “No. I already said you could go with Arwen Saturday and to the dance. But you can forget about Bard’s fishing trip and anything else your friends have planned for you for the next 2 months.”

            “Come on, Dad-“

            And then he’s fixing me with the Dad Stare again. “Am I understood?”

            I don’t like it, but I’m pretty sure the ‘next 2 months’ part was because I argued in the first place, and I’d prefer to still do something before my birthday in 3 months. “Yeah, fine. Understood.”

            “Good. Room. Now.” He even _points_ , like I don’t know where my room is. There’s a ‘this is so unfair’ right on the tip of my tongue, but the last time I did that, he actually sat down with Mom, and I was under house arrest for a good 6 months. So instead, I go upstairs, and keep my ‘this is so unfair’ in between my pillows and myself. He really knows where to hit, though; Bard’s fishing trips are famous (and in the case of the Twins, infamous). He, his dad, and his second step-mom live right on the lake. In a _yacht._ So I’m missing a yacht party. Yay.

               


	2. Glorfindel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Part two of this! And we meet Gimli here. Hopefully, he gets the job. :-) I'll probably have the last chapter up tomorrow or the day after.

            I know I told Tauriel that I wouldn’t be interrupting whatever Erestor has going on, but to be fair, he did say it would probably be over around 7. I check the clock on the TV- it’s 6:30 now. What is it with me and dates? Either I pick the crazy ones, like Carolyn but there’s been a few others, or I pick absolute losers. And it looks like Erestor’s getting his life back on track, but he’s starting to edge into the ‘crazy’ pile. I let out another groan and glance up at the staircase. I have _never_ liked snapping at Tauriel or grounding her, but I refuse to hit her, so there’s really only one way that can go.

            Besides, she knows better. We have a pact- I’ll always let her know what’s going on if it affects her if she’ll do the same. This _definitely_ affects me, and she’d known about it for a good 2 weeks? I appreciate her wanting to let me have a relationship on my own. I was _terrified_ that coming out as bisexual to my daughter would ruin what we have, and it’s a relief that not only is she still not bothered by it, but she’s trying to look out for me. But she knows the rules, and I forcibly squash down the part of me that wants to go up there and apologize.

            And a dance? Really? That’s- that’s not something that she usually cares for. I can see her going maybe as a wingman to one of her teammates, sure, but on an actual date? I frown and grab my tablet out of the home office. Really, I stopped using it years ago, but everything’s still there and in working order. I think mainly it’s used for the printer and the desktop when a laptop just won’t do. I pull it off of the charger, sit down on the couch in front of the TV again, and proceed to do some Facebook stalking. So, Kili. Who are you? And how are there so many people named Kili?

            My daughter’s page reveals the normal set of friends- and then, I find it. Kili Durinson. Transferred from Erebor with an athletic scholarship for track and archery- knew that. Also has an academic scholarship for math- that I didn’t know. So, he’s smart and a dedicated athlete. Has one brother, his mom- his mom is my _maid!_ Oh well. Dis is nice, and if her youngest son takes after her at all, I’ve got nothing to worry about. The boy is almost comically short- a family trait, it seems. His dad died in Afghanistan, and they live with several uncles. Favorite color is red, his brother has a car but he doesn’t, and his uncle is apparently dating a lawyer named Bilbo Baggins from the Shire.

            Facebook has painted a decent picture of the kid, but I’ll have to meet him to be sure I want to let him take my daughter out. I glance down at the clock again, this time to the one in the corner of my screen. 7:15. I turn the TV onto the news and turn it up, stepping outside to the backyard. I don’t _think_ my daughter would listen in- it’s not in her nature- but I’d prefer this conversation stay between Erestor and myself, and I don’t mind taking a little extra precaution. With that done, I make myself comfortable by the empty grill and send a text.

            “ _Hey, my daughter just told me some stuff, and I think we need to talk. Is it a good time to call?_ ”

            I wait what seems like a good 10 minutes but is probably only 5 before my phone rings. Without hesitation, I answer it. “Hey.”

            He acknowledges the greeting with a “Hi” of his own and then, in true Erestor fashion, skips past all the small talk. “What’s up?”

            “Well, like I said, my daughter told me a few things, and I wanted to see if they were true from you instead of listening to gossip.” I’m really hoping that they’re _not_. The recovering alcoholic part I can deal with- I can even deal with the messed up childhood. But potentially endangering a kid by giving him your bike and telling him to go have fun? No. That I can’t do.

            “Fair enough. What have you heard?” There’s a smile in his voice, but there’s tension too, and I wonder which one is real.

            “First of all- and this one I kind of figured out- are you an alcoholic?” Blunt. Well, I can’t find any other way to put it. There’s silence on the line for a moment.

            “No. But I was- I’m trying to quit. Cold turkey method didn’t work last time, so I’m just trying to do it a little more rarely, you know?”

            _‘The tension.’_ I think. That’s definitely the real one. “Yeah,” I say, and then give him some platitude of ‘It’s better for your health’ or some such- working at and owning your own gym has its downsides sometimes, and health-related stuff pouring from your mouth is one of them. “So, next order of business.” I try to make it sound a little more happy and a little less- ‘tell me what I want to know or else’- but I doubt it’s working. “Were you friends with Elladan and Elrohir back when you were in high school?”

            He makes a vaguely agreeing noise and then elaborates. “I wouldn’t have called us ‘ _friends_ ’, exactly. I needed cash, they had cash. They wanted somebody without a ton of cash and not approved by Daddy dearest who they could party with. I liked parties.”

            “Sounds like more of a business relationship.” I say before I can stop myself.

            He laughs at me. “Yeah, that’s a little more like how it was.”

            “Well, according to Facebook and my daughter, the entire school is up in arms about something to do with your bike?”

            He spits out a curse word. “Yes, I already talked to their father. That little _fucker_ told me his dad’s insurance would pay for it if he crashed it, that he was just going to sneak off to his girlfriends place. I knew the little asshole was cheating, didn’t know how _far_ out West the other woman was.”

            “So, you thought he had his dad’s permission?” That was a little better, at least. He couldn’t be faulted for not suspecting their father of disapproving.

            He laughed at me again. “Please! Visit their father sometime. I’m sure he has the paper framed over his desk somewhere. ‘Ro forged his dad’s signature on a form stating that he knew where his kid was going and that he’d pay for any damages to my vehicle. I figured he’d just lied to his dad about what he was borrowing my bike _for_.”

            “Wow. So just out of curiosity, you didn’t think to call his dad first?” Another round of silence, and then a heavy sigh.

            “Look, Fin, I was pretty fucked up that weekend. The old man had just gotten out of parole, and I was drinking while trying to figure out a way to get him back behind bars. It’s not an excuse, I know, but I didn’t want to call his dad and then have to explain that I was drunk when I signed the thing agreeing to it. I talked to Elrond when he asked me about it, and it was the first time I’d heard that he _didn’t_ know what was going on with his son. Okay?”

            He sounds stressed, and I’m fairly sure I’m going to be hung up on.  “Okay.” I reassure. “Trust me, that sounds _way_ better than the rumors going around.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.” I confirm.

            We’re quiet for another minute. “So since I upset you-“ He makes a noise, but I continue on. I _know_ I’ve upset him. “How about you let me take you out to dinner tomorrow to make up for it?”

            “I thought you had to work on Wednesdays?” He asks, but I notice he doesn’t sound as tense as he did a few minutes ago.

            “I do, usually, but I hired a new manager. I’ve got one that handles the mornings, and I’m going to let him handle tomorrow. He’s been looking for a day off, so I’ll probably be at the gym all day tomorrow.” Crap. Stop it, Glorfindel, you’re word vomiting again!

            “Allright. What time? It’s got to be after 5, I’m getting my sleeves finished.”

            I’m hopelessly confused, and some of it must be apparent in the way I go quiet. “Like, at a tailor?”

            He laughs again. “God, Fin, I need to talk to you more often. No, at a tattoo parlor. Specifically, Durinson Tattoo and Piercings, if you’re curious.”

            “Oh.” I say, and I feel like an idiot. “Well, that’s nice, I guess. Around 8-ish? You pick the place.”

            “You guess?” He asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “They are very nice, I’ll have you know. Ever been to the Fat Cat Café?”

            I shake my head, feel even _more_ like an idiot because he _can’t see me_ , and answer. “Nope. Anything special I need to wear?”

            Evidently, I didn’t get _that_ answer wrong, at least, because he doesn’t laugh this time. “Jeans, a comfortable shirt. Very casual.”

            “Okay. Where is it?” I ask, and hurriedly type the directions into my tablet.

            And just like that, the conversation is over. Finally, I can just relax for the night, and- well, I do have one more thing to handle. I head inside, locking the door behind me, and dropping my tablet on the couch, before going up the stairs. I rap at Tauriel’s door, and wait. “It’s open.” She says, though she still sounds pretty grouchy. She’s on her laptop again, but in her pajamas, which consist of a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. “What?” She asks, and I take a seat on the edge of her bed.

            “I went ahead and talked to him anyway. Turns out, he’s been played, just like Elrohir’s girlfriend. He and their dad talked for a while, apparently.”

            “Another strike for Elrohir- and he’s out of the will!” She quips, and I snort.

            “Yeah, you better believe it.”

            She looks up at me, and for a second I’m just thankful that she got my eyes. Her mom’s hair, her slighter frame, but my height and my eyes. “I just heard something from Arwen- and _literally_ just now, not a week ago, promise.”

            “Yeah? What’s up with Squeaky?” She laughs at me, and I can’t help but join in. Poor Arwen. Whenever the girl gets excited, her voice goes up and up and up ‘till sometimes I think it could break glass.

            “Apparently, she heard her dad talking to their lawyer. Since nobody can tell if it’s really his signature or not, but Elrohir fessed up to it, Erestor can actually sue, and he’s planning on offering a settlement of a couple thousand dollars if he does.”

            I nod, and think back to what was said earlier- namely, how he didn’t want to have to tell Elrond he was drunk. If he sued, he’d have to confess eventually. “Somehow, I don’t think that he will.” I say, and roll myself off of her bed. “I’m going to handle a couple of interviews for a night manager. Don’t wait up.”

            “I won’t.” She answers, and I walk downstairs and out the door. I debate between my truck and the new Kia before deciding to just use my truck as usual. The Kia was for Tauriel in a few months, if she passed her driver’s test after her birthday. If I’d known about basically adopting Legolas, I might have just bought two used cars for the same price, but they probably won’t mind sharing. I have the nasty feeling that Legolas isn’t used to taking the liberty of picking out his own _clothes_ without permission, much less a car. With that still in my mind, I drive to the gym where a familiar cast is waiting for me.

            Even at night, we still have some customers- very few, but we do have them. Erestor, I recall, is one of them. They’re usually day workers or people who prefer the quiet. It also helps that one of the hotels nearby has a deal with us- they’ll pay half price for the day pass, and their customers use our gym whenever. We’re not quite 24 hour, but we’re open enough to see quite a few. The spa, I have to admit, was a good idea, made by a former girlfriend. It’s not the only one in town, but it’s by far the best. I leave a note for my day manager, Turgon (I’m told by the other employees that he runs this place like a kingdom), offering him the day off on Saturday (our busiest day) in exchange for him working through his normal morning shift, going wherever he went during the day, and then coming back for the night shift on Wednesday.

            At this point, it’s more habit and courtesy than anything else- he won’t refuse. And then, I go through interviews. The first is Turgon’s nephew Maeglin, and he’s out the door before he can even open his mouth. I hired him a few years ago and he nearly sent my company down the drain with frivolous expenses. 100 towels? Yes. Repairs for an elliptical? Expected for a gym. A new car? Hell, no. There are few more before I decide to have a kid named Gimli and a guy by the name of Egalmoth (what a mouthful, but I can’t really talk) do a probationary managerial thing. Who knows? I might end up hiring both of them. Gimli wants the night shift (thank God), Egalmoth is good with whatever.

            I listen to the other interviewers, but Gimli is the only one who looks like he can lift bench-press weights off of somebody’s throat if they decide to be an idiot, and Egalmoth is the only one with any managerial experience. With a yawn, I help close down at 9:30 and go back home. It’s been a long day.  


	3. Erestor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, the end of Tuesday is here- on a Tuesday! I promise I didn't do this just for the pun. There will be two more chapters, covering Erestor's tattoos and the date. For a little happy in you day, just imagine Glorfindel in tight yoga pants. :-)

                On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I take care of Mrs. Henderson- it’s an all-day affair, and some days she remembers me better than others, but I don’t mind. I start my day off with a few swallows from an open bottle of wine- I’d forgotten just _how much_ alcohol I have in the house, and then a few minutes playing with Daisy to tire her out a little. It’s rainy today, so as much as I hate to do it- there’s going to be a few ‘messes’ to clean up later, I leave her inside after she does her business outside.

                And then it’s over to Mrs. Henderson’s house. Agatha Henderson and her kids are my main source of income- most of the money from writing books goes to publishers, and even though I’m pretty good at investments and get extra cash occasionally for working odd jobs, $500 a week is hard to argue with. Recently, I got a job at the tattoo parlor I frequent. Turns out that Certified Nursing Assistant degree came in useful after all- I get to handle piercings by appointment. It isn’t steady yet, though. If I’m lucky, I’ll get called in maybe once every week or two, so I’m dependent on Mrs. Henderson, pretty much.

                To be honest, I’d probably take care of her for free- not that I’ll turn down $250 a day. She took care of Lindir and I when we were kids, and nobody else would. This is just returning the favor. In her late 40’s, she started behaving oddly, and by the time she was 50, she was diagnosed with Dementia. That had turned swiftly into Alzheimer’s, and it just became something that her kids and grandkids either couldn’t or didn’t want to deal with.

                So here’s how Tuesdays and Thursdays work for me. After I handle the dog, I get on my bike and drive to the east side of town. She and her kids live in a 3-bedroom 2-bathroom house, which was chosen because one of the bedrooms and bathrooms are equipped for a handicapped person. I use my spare key to open the door, call a greeting, and make breakfast. Her son-in-law has already left for the day, but usually her daughter, Jen, is there as she doesn’t get into work until 10. Today is no different, and she helps herself to the food while I dig through my saddlebag, which I always bring inside. Teasingly, I shake a bag of lemon-flavored gummy bears at her, and she laughs.

                “Mom’s going to love you today. Mom! Erestor’s here!”

                There’s no call of ‘who’s that’ or ‘who are you’, so I assume that today’s going to be one of her good days. I see Jen off, snack a little while I get Agatha’s breakfast ready. She’s on a special diet- which I’m about to blow with her favorite thing, lemon candies- so I have to take extra time for that. I boil a pot of rice- she’ll eat some of it for every meal, so I do it in bulk- and I do it the traditional way one of my aunts used to. Mixed vegetables, boiled so that they’re easy to chew, and a few pieces of baked fish later, and breakfast is ready. I put it all on a tray, add a plastic cup (complete with handle) of water, and knock on her bedroom door.

                “Mrs. Henderson? I have breakfast. Can I come in?”

                There’s a shaky answer, but I can’t understand it, so taking a small risk, I open the door anyway. She looks to be barely conscious, the King James bible still open to Psalms beside her. There’s a special stand that I purchased, just for meals, and I set the tray on that before helping her sit up. For my troubles, I get an angry old woman. Rolling my eyes more at myself than at her, I take off my shirt, leaving me in an old wife-beater. She _hates_ long-sleeved shirts. A few years ago, she started thinking that people with long-sleeved shirts had snakes or cockroaches instead of arms, and she freaks out every time.

                She’s completely calm this time when I go to move her, propping her up with pillows. “Are you hungry today, Mrs. Henderson?” I ask politely. If she decides she isn’t hungry, I can put this in the fridge and make her a fruit smoothie or something, but she has to eat to take her medication. The rice and vegetables are a hit, but the fish is a no-go. She’s eaten more than usual, however, so I just put it in the fridge and let her be about it for now.

                Next comes the morning medications. The endless supply of medications. After that- and every pill has to be taken with water, the poor thing suffers from dry mouth- I carry her to the bathroom to do her business and help her take her morning bath. She usually at least tries to walk into the library where all the books are kept, but she keeps stumbling, so I pick her up and carry her there as well. After a visit there, her memory starts going, as I knew it might.

                I bent down to pick up a book she’d dropped, and looked up to her staring at me, absolutely _terrified_. “What are you doing in my house?” She demands, and I hold up my hands in a peaceful gesture. It really freaks her out when she can’t see someone’s hands.

                “My name is Erestor, and I take care of you while your children are at work.” There’s a special tone to use with her- calm and quiet. She can’t keep up with rapid speech, and it makes her angry.

                She looks around nervously. “I don’t have any kids. Take what you want, leave me alone, please!”

                “I’m not here to hurt you or steal from you, promise.” Out of the corner of my eye, I spy her old, and treasured photo album. It usually jogs her memories. “Here- take a look at these. You have a disease that affects your memory, so you don’t remember me right now, but you’ll remember later.”

                That’s not quite true. She almost never remembers her son who lives out of state, but it’s probably more because he’s never around. After a few minutes in the library, I carry her back to her room- she’s clutching onto the album like a lifeline and sobbing. So I break out my final trick.

                “You know, it’s November, but I think Santa came early. He brought you these!” I’ve divided the bag into several plastic baggies, as she shouldn’t eat them all at once. Immediately, her face lights up in childish wonder, and after a short nap, she’s fine.

                “Erestor, why is my photo album here? Take it to the library, please?”

                “Of course, Mrs. Henderson.”

                “How many times do I have to tell you you don’t have to call me that?”

                The fish is swiftly eaten after that, and I get into the kitchen again while she watches TV in the living room. A few minutes has the dishes washed, and I decide to make spring rolls as a snack. They usually go down well with her- she loves the ‘veggie burritos’.

                Her son-in-law is home from work early (very, very early), so I take a break after I sweep out the back of the house and vacuum. The weather’s chilly, so my long-sleeved shirt goes back on, and I head back home. As predicted, I have a bit of cleanup to do in the house, and then I take Daisy on another jog. This time, we have to go to the local pharmacy as she’s run out of a few necessities, so I just run the way there, a very happy dog in tow. Or, rather, a very happy dog towing _me_. On the way out, I see, curiously enough, Glorfindel, and then I remember that this isn’t so far from his business.

                He joins me for a few minutes and turns back about a quarter of a way to the house, and I put Daisy back inside, pack everything up, and go back to Mrs. Henderson’s place.

                The rest of the day and night goes well, without another major lapse of memory, thank goodness, and when Jen gets home at 7, I accept my paycheck- always in cash- and head back home. I’ve just changed into a pair of comfortable sleep-shorts and comfortable shirt when I get a text. “Now who could that be?” I ask Daisy, who just thumps her stump of a tail against the ground. Looks like I’ve tired the poor thing out.

                ‘ _Hey, my daughter just told me some stuff, and I think we need to talk. Is now a good time to call?_ ’

                A text from Glorfindel. I frown. This seems like a set-up for a break up ( _are we even really dating?)_ if I’ve ever heard one. I give him a call.

                “Hey!” He says happily, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. And I’m not smiling. Definitely not smiling.

                “Hi. What’s up?” Phones should always be used to get to the point. He wants to chat for an hour or two, we can meet up face to face.

                He sounds a little nervous when he says, “Well, like I said, my daughter told me a few things, and I wanted to see if they were true from you instead of listening to gossip.”

                I have the feeling I know what this is about, and that I won’t like it. “Fair enough.” More than fair actually, most people would just listen to the rumors and damn the rest. “What have you heard?”

                “First of all- and this one I kind of figured out- are you an alcoholic?” Well. Doesn’t pull the punches, does he? I’m tempted to lie, but I decide not to. If I want this to work out- and I do- some honesty will be required.

                “No. But I was- I’m trying to quit. Cold turkey method didn’t work last time, so I’m just trying to do it a little more rarely, you know?” I wonder faintly if it sounds as lame to him as it does to me.

                “Yeah.” He says, and adds, “You know, you’ll probably live a good 10 years longer.” I roll my eyes and this time fight a sigh. “So, next order of business.” And he sounds so damn _cheerful_. How the hell does he do that?

                “Were you friends with Elladan and Elrohir back when you were in high school?” How did he know that? Oh, daughter, that’s right.

                “Mm-hmm.” I hum, and at his silence, explain a little. “I wouldn’t have called us ‘ _friends_ ’, exactly. I needed cash, they had cash. They wanted somebody without a ton of cash and not approved by Daddy dearest who they could party with. I liked parties.” Liked was the understatement of the year.

                “Sounds like more of a business relationship.” He quips dryly, and I smile a little, letting out a chuckle.

                “Yeah, that’s a little more like how it was.” I confirm, and wait for his next question. I don’t have to wait for long.

                “Well, according to Facebook and my daughter, the entire school is up in arms about something to do with your bike?”

          He sounds hesitant, and suddenly- “ _Fuck._ Yes, I already talked to their father.” I grind my teeth a little and continue. “That little  _fucker_ told me his dad’s insurance would pay for it if he crashed it, that he was just going to sneak off to his girlfriends place. I knew the little asshole was cheating, didn’t know how  _far_ out West the other woman was.” All true- he’d told me the next town west, not four freaking towns away.

          Glorfindel sounds relieved as he asked, “So you thought he had his dad’s permission?”

          I can almost fell the questions- ‘but why didn’t you ask his dad in the first place? You didn’t think it was strange that he just asked for your bike?’. What comes out of me, though, is “Please! Visit their father sometime. I’m sure he has the paper framed over his desk somewhere. ‘Ro forged his dad’s signature on a form stating that he knew where his kid was going and that he’d pay for any damages to my vehicle. I figured he’d just lied to his dad about what he was borrowing my bike  _for_.”

                “Wow.” He says simply, and follow up with, “So just out of curiosity, you didn’t think to call his dad first?”

                I sigh heavily. How did I know he was going to ask that? “Look, Fin, I was pretty fucked up that weekend. The old man had just gotten out of parole, and I was drinking while trying to figure out a way to get him back behind bars. It’s not an excuse, I know, but I didn’t want to call his dad and then have to explain that I was drunk when I signed the thing agreeing to it. I talked to Elrond when he asked me about it, and it was the first time I’d heard that he  _didn’t_ know what was going on with his son. Okay?” I hadn’t intended on telling him about my own dad, but it was true. In fact, his last night of parole was the night we’d tried (or I’d tried, at least) to set up our date. Embarrassingly enough, I’d hit him up for sex more than half a dozen times, not including the most recent one, when drunk. ‘ _If I’d known he was this hot, I would’ve made it 2 dozen.’_ I think traitorously. Right now, though, I’m staring at my phone, wondering if it would be more satisfying to hang up or toss it across the room.

                “Okay, okay.” He says, trying to calm me down, “Trust me, that sounds _way_ better than the rumors going around.”

                “Yeah?” I’m pretty sure they include me sleeping with both of them- which only happened once, but it may not have happened at all, for all I know. I had been really fucking drunk, and who knew what those assholes had done? I certainly wasn’t sore- at least anywhere but my head- the day after, so I doubt it.

                “Yeah.” He agrees, and starts, “So since I’ve upset you-“

                I made a negative noise. He _has_ upset me, but it’s more to do with what Elrohir did than his questions. It’s hardly his fault. He continues anyway. “How about you let me take you out for dinner tomorrow to make up for it?”

                What is it with this man and dates? With anyone else, I’d have had a tour of their bedroom by now, but he seems intent on taking it slow. That’s never happened for me, and I don’t honestly know what to do about it. “I thought you had to work on Wednesdays?” I ask to buy myself a few seconds. I hardly want to sound like an idiot, but I need to get my thoughts straight.

                “I do, usually, but I hired a new manager. I’ve got one that handles the mornings, and I’m going to let him handle tomorrow. He’s been looking for a day off, so I’ll probably be at the gym all day tomorrow.”

                I don’t know why he bothers explaining these things to me- but it’s kind of…nice, I suppose. “Allright. What time? It’s got to be after 5, I’m getting my sleeves finished.” I don’t think he knows about my tattoos, but I suppose now is as good a time as any to let him know.

          “Like…” He starts, sounding for all the world like a child presented with a new type of food that they’re not quite sure if they like or not. Or even what, exactly the food is. “At a tailor?”

          Did he just- a _tailor_? I can’t help but laugh at the tone he uses. “God, Fin, I need to talk to you more often.” God knows I don’t laugh often enough. “No, at a tattoo parlor. Specifically, Durinson Tattoo and Piercings, if you’re curious.”

          “Oh.” He says in that tone that people use when they ask a really obvious question and get an obvious answer. “Well, that’s nice, I guess. Around 8-ish? You pick the place.” I decide he can deal with the tattoos which cover a multitude of scars on my arms and back; I’m not getting them removed for him or anyone else.

          “You guess? They are very nice, I’ll have you know.” I tease, still laughing a little. They really are- say what you will about the shortness of the Durinson family. In my opinion, they just channeled the missing height into skill with body art. And I much prefer these works of art to the patchwork scars which they cover. It had been difficult to mark over some of them, but Ori Durinson is a veritable genius. “Ever been to the Fat Cat Café?” I ask, and even the mention of it makes me hungry. All of their food is authentic, and reminds me of some of the stuff I had the last time I was in New Orleans.

          “Nope.” He says almost sheepishly, and suddenly I have the idea of taking him to some of the places I’ve been. I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve been almost everywhere in the South. “Anything special I need to wear?”

          Fat Cat’s is nice, but not as nice as some of the places in town. “Jeans, a comfortable shirt. Very casual.” I almost say ‘business casual’, but then I remember that he works at a gym and might wear those tight pants he occasionally does when I go there for my weekly workout. I’d love it if he did, but I don’t think sporting a boner for a few hours is good date etiquette.

          “Okay. Where is it?” He asks, and I absentmindedly give them to him. “See you Wednesday?”

          “Yeah, I’ll meet you there. Night.”

          “Night.” I hang up and glance off the side of the couch. Daisy is snoring, the TV is now annoying, so I turn it off and decide to just nap on the couch.


	4. Erestor: Tattoos and Jambalaya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't know how I managed 8 pages in a day, but I hope you guys enjoy! Warning: The last half of the chapter is spent with Erestor trying to get into Glorfindel's pants. Though if you're reading anything with the Erestor/Glorfindel tag, I suppose you're into that. Also, Dwalin is totally a softie for Ori, and Ori might look like a kid, but he will stand his ground when he needs to. Or at least that's my headcannon. 
> 
> Underlined and italicized things are texts or writing, while just italicized are thoughts. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think and if you spot any errors! The weird food items are explained in the chapter, and the tattoo meanings are largely from richmondtattoos.com, as well as the sunnyside Futhark rune translations and Celtic Symbolism (whats-your-sign) for the trees and flowers.

          The next day starts off with me doing my usual routine, with the exception of trading my usual long sleeves for a loose t-shirt, and putting Daisy in the motorcycle after she gets a few minutes outside. Before I can forget, I also grab some quick sketches I’ve done for my finished sleeves. It’ll likely take a few hours, but I don’t mind- getting it done, to me, is like having old scars from my parents’ abuse and my own self-harm phase erased and having something prettier than normal skin put in its’ place.

          It’s a quick ride over there, and I leash Daisy up on their fence to play with Dain’s giant warthog. It’s literally a giant warthog, I’m not joking. Her name is Beauty, and she’s oddly sweet. Just like Dain, who owns the place- tough on the outside, sweet on the inside. Not that I’d ever tell him that to his face. I enter, and Ori- who looks like he isn’t old enough to even be in here, even though he’s older than I am- is already working on somebody. He calls out to me anyway. “Res! Take a look on the counter, I have some designs for you. Unless you’ve got something in mind, of course.”

          “Sure!” I respond, having to raise my voice above the noise of the tattoo gun. I flip through, and almost laugh. Ori knows me too well. The kite shield with a celtic border is a slightly different shape than the one I used, but it looks good. It matches a little more with the vines, flowers, Celtic knots, and birds on my left arm anyway. There’s a very nice Dropkick Murphys-esque rose on the top of the shield with the bottom left blank. I’ll have to ask Ori about the blank space at the bottom, but the top and the shield itself looks nice; we’re also supposed to be finishing up the coloring around and in between the different markings.

          For the right arm, which is a stretching tiger under bamboo and pansies, he’s finally finished with the final draft of my dragons. They’ll be Chinese style, of course- I don’t need those which represent Greed or anything like that on me- and the clouds on his are more stylized than they are on mine.

          I’m startled by a rough ‘clap’ on the arm from Ori’s long-time boyfriend Dwalin, who’s almost twice Ori’s age. “Getting some work finished?”

          “Yeah, I’ll probably go with Ori’s. It looks better than mine.”

          “Usually does, with him. Keep telling him he shoulda went to art school, been an artist.” Dwalin grumped, flipping through the papers with tatoo’d and callused hands.

          Oddly enough, it was Dwalin who I met first, not Ori, and he’s the one who first suggested that I get the tattoos. I was out on Route 66, met up with my fellow biker when we were stopped by police. We were in the Arizona region, and it was just after that new law was created- you know, the one that allows the cops to stop anyone who looks Mexican? Well, I’m Hispanic, but I’ve never even _been_ to Mexico. He could’ve ridden off- we hadn’t even had a conversation yet, I’d just slowed down a little and he sped up so we were sharing a lane- and nobody would’ve thought anything about it. Instead, he provided an intensely intimidating presence to the probably racist cop while I proved that I was, in fact, an American citizen. I’m so glad that 2 years ago, they finally got rid of that.

          Anyway, we’ve been friends ever since, and unlike the Twins, I actually _think_ of him as a friend. I wrote his proposal speech- which he should be telling Ori any day now, and helped take care of sick family members who don’t want to go to the hospital more than once, while he occasionally pays for parts of my body art, and gets me to come over and eat lunch or dinner with his family.

          “But he _is_ an artist.” I object firmly, rolling over my arm so he can see the proof.

          He snorts at me- this is an old argument. Ori is too young to be saddled with an old man, Ori should go to college and make something of himself, Ori deserves better. What he fails to recognize, and what Ori and I both keep reminding him of is that Ori is old enough to make his own decisions, college isn’t everything, and Ori can decide what or who he deserves.

          “That’s what _I_ said, but he never listens to me.” He sticks his tongue out. He doesn’t match his surroundings, all warm knitwear and soft eyes. But when he works- oh, it’s clear that this is where he _belongs_.

          Dwalin grumbles. “You know I listen to you, love.” He growls back, and I glance away from their little couple moment, pretending to look over the designs again.

          They stop to get Ori’s previous customer’s payment, and then Ori’s leaning over me to get a look at the pages. “So, what do you think?” He asks, and I nod.

          “I’m liking the dragons. That’s definitely a go.” We discuss colors for a few minutes, and Ori makes some notes on the paper before we talk about the other one.

          “The shield is a nice touch, and I’d like to use it. Are you planning on putting something under the rose?” I ask after he tells me he has to come by at least once a week since I’m not sleeping with anyone so that he can make sure the tattoo heals correctly and is kept moisturized. Were it anyone else, I would refuse, but they both know what happened with me as a kid, and so I’m not nervous about them seeing scars any longer. The story came out, not when drunk, surprisingly, but when I got my first tattoo and the young man asked me where, exactly, I got the scars from.

          Ori shakes his head and turned red as Dwalin openly laughed at it. “You think this old dog is gonna settle down?” He asks in amusement, and I smile as well.

          “He might! And even if he doesn’t, we can put something else there.” Ori objects.

          “Okay. So what’s this about?” I ask, interrupting them and tapping my fingers on the paper.

          Ori sticks his tongue out at Dwalin again, who makes some crude comment about ‘finding a use for it’ before answering. “It’s an old family tradition. We all have one.” He lifted up his shirt a little so that I can see that he has a similar design- not the same, but it’s got the rose and a banner underneath it with Dwalin’s name in cursive. “If you ever find someone you want to settle down with, you put their name in the rose tattoo. It’s almost a proposal in our family.”

          I shake my head. “It’s a good design, but I don’t know about settling down.” I debate for a second. “Ah, what the hell? Let’s do it.” I doubt I’ll have the need to use it for its’ intended purpose, but Ori fairly beams at me before getting me to take off my shirt and sit in the chair.

          We do the usual setup- cleaning the area with rubbing alcohol, opening new needles and bottles of ink, getting Dwalin to go into the back and mix some more, and Ori spends a good 20 to 30 minutes marking me up with a marker. And then it begins.

          I’ve seen people come in here and _bawl_ when they get tattoos. Some of them- mothers who get the names of the children they’ve lost, friends who’ve lost love ones- I can understand why they weep. It’s almost like purging the poison of grief away, giving you something more real to focus on. But the actual physical pain is barely there. Then again, I suppose I’m not one to judge. Anything less than what would make another go to the hospital does very little to me.

          As predicted, I’m in the chair for several hours. We take a few breaks, Ori for his cramping hand, myself to check on Daisy and use the men’s room, but the session is largely uninterrupted. I’ll have to go in for touch-ups in a few weeks; it’s hard to get lighter colors to stay in without a few rounds, but it looks pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. I pay for it- which is why I got this particular payment from Jen in cash, as it’s quickly all gone- put my shirt back on, and go outside, promising to visit them on Friday. I greet Dain on my way out, give Beauty a friendly pat on her hairy hide (as well as feed her a hidden apple, but don’t tell Dain), and head home.

          I rest on my stomach for a few hours before getting dressed again, rinse of quickly in the shower, and get dressed. A nice pair of jeans, my usual boots, a purple button-down short-sleeve shirt, and I’m ready to go. Daisy gets left outside again (to her great pleasure, as she gets to chase squirrels) after I fill up her bowls with food and water, and head out to the café.

          Fat Cat’s is a diamond in the rough. It’s in the oldest part of downtown, with a wood and brick façade. ‘ _Fat Cat’s Jazz Bar and Café_ ‘ is proudly painted on the front of the building in royal purple with gold shading. There’s a pair of admittedly very fat cats, one with a trumpet and the other with a piano on either side of the sign, and I enter.

          The inside of Fat Cat’s- it’s like stepping out of Texas and right into Louisiana. There’s a live band after 6 until they close at midnight, and the main room is lit with candles on the tables and fairy lights placed sparingly on the ceiling. The tables have tablecloths in crimson, deepest gold, blue, emerald, and royal purple. It’s a comfortable place, and I check my phone to see it’s only 7:50. Ah, well, there’s nothing wrong with being here a little early.

          With that in mind, I chat up the hostess for a few minutes before being sat down at one of the red tables near the dance floor and wait. Fat Cat’s, despite the decoration, isn’t a super-romantic place. Families come her just as often as couples do; it’s a different culture than what’s found here. There are windows toward the front and rear of the restaurant, but they’re covered with gold curtains with embroidered cats in various colors. Within a few minutes, a familiar face comes through the door, seeming shocked at the difference between the bright lights and noise of downtown and the comfortable (at least to me) atmosphere inside.

          He makes his way down to sit across from me. “I never actually knew this place existed. Nice choice.”

          “Thanks.” I respond, and nod towards the kitchen. “One of my cousins, Ecthelion, introduced me. His wife is the owner.” Cousin? Shouldn’t I be calling him brother now? Old habits are hard to break, I suppose.

          Turns out, he’s never actually had Gumbo _or_ Jambalaya, which is a cardinal sin in my book, so we order both, and I make sure our waitress knows to save me a plate of chocolate Beignets and a couple cups of coffee. “You can’t leave here without trying one, and it’s terrible to eat one without some coffee to go with.” I explain at his curious gaze.

          There’s a discussion about _what_ exactly a Beignet is- a pastry, sometimes filled with something like chocolate, fried, and then dusted with powder, like a delicious, flaky donut- then what was in Gumbo and Jambalaya (which made me feel like an idiot- what if he was allergic to seafood? Luckily, he isn’t.). After that, the food came, and the topic naturally went to the place his eyes kept darting to- my arms.

          “So, is there a meaning to them, or were they just picked for the look?” Thankfully, he seems more curious than disgusted or off-put by them, which is a reaction I’ve had more than once.

          I raise the left arm first. “I have more on my upper shoulder and back, of course, but I can’t exactly take off my shirt here.” His throat works for a second and I look at my wrist to hide a grin. So he’s not all sugar and sweetness, then. Around my wrist, Dwalin did a ring of Futhark runes, like the ones on his hands, and I explain the meaning of each one. “Dagaz, for the power to change under your own will, and breakthroughs. Ingwaz- common sense and freedom. Laguz- dreams, mysteries, and fantasies.” And is that my imagination, or did his throat jump again when I said fantasies? “Berkano for renewal and healing, Algiz, protection, Pertho- the occult and secrets.  Haglaz, uncontrollable forces.”

          “Interesting. Are those like Viking stuff?”

          I nod. “Yeah, the Vikings used runes to write. If you go up- and this one goes all the way up,” I say, tracing a vine, “Ivy stands for patience.” If I’m not mistaken, he looks like he wants to do some tracing himself. Good. I’d probably let him. “Hazel trees stand for creativity,” I say gesturing to a tree artfully designed to ‘grow’ from the run of Laguz on the back of my wrist. “Dahlias are for travel,” I explain, extending my arm to let him see the bunches of flowers bordering the vine which trails my veins. It feels like a shock- a pleasant one, but a shock nonetheless- when he gets the courage to start letting his fingers play over the designs.

          “These?” He asks, and his voice sounds a little bit lower than usual.

          “Daffodils. Faith and forgiveness.” Wordlessly, he strokes a set of apple blossoms on my elbow. “Apple blossoms. Peace. And sex.” His hand twitches, and I’m pretty sure by the awkward shifting, I’m not the only one enjoying the turn tonight’s taking.

          He clears his throat and goes for the next one- and the moment is broken by our waitress whom I’d previously had great faith in. She took our bowls away and promised the dessert would be coming soon. When I turned back, he was flushing bright red and his hands were firmly on _his_ side of the table. Pity, that. I start listing the other flower meanings, and explain that the nightingale with a pansy in its’ beak is for my younger brother. The nightingale was his favorite bird, the pansy- remembrance. It’s been almost a year since I saw him last; he finally got his GED and is going to a college down in Florida, as far as I know. He wouldn’t answer my calls or e-mails, so I just…stopped calling.

          I switch to the other arm and explain the tiger under the bamboo and pansies, and muse that I have a _lot_ of tattoos about change and remembering. “The dragons and the shield on my upper arms I just got today.”

          “Well, you’re right- they are pretty nice. How many do you have?” He still looks uncomfortable with his earlier display of lust, and I want to laugh again. Doesn’t he realize that if I didn’t want him to, he’d never have even been allowed to touch me?

          “All of the ones on my arms- the dragons continue on to my back, and I have a pair of Oni masks on my thigh.” Unsurprisingly, I have to explain that the Oni are the balance of good and evil- and in a fit of ‘evil’ of my own, I add with a smirk, “And if you play your cards right, you might just see them.”

          And damn if he doesn’t look hungry all over again, like we haven’t just eaten. “And what cards would I have to play for that?” He flirts back, and there we are- right where we left off. And just like last time, we’re interrupted _again_ by the waitress, who apologizes for the wait and delivers the beignets and coffee.

          I sigh and shake my head. “She has a sixth sense about these things, what do you think?” I ask, and he laughs.

          “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

          Dessert is, as expected, delicious, and he reluctantly agrees with me about the coffee, even if he’s not a huge coffee drinker himself. “Wanna dance?” I ask, gesturing to the floor where the band is still playing. There are a few couples already there, and he turns pink again.

          “I- ah, can’t dance.” He admits, and I laugh.

          “Want to learn?” I offer.

          It takes him a minute or two, but then he shrugs and gives me a crooked little grin. “Why not?”

          He really wasn’t kidding when he said he couldn’t dance, and I’m grateful I wore my boots instead of the loafers I was tempted to put on. Eventually, he’s somewhat comfortable but then gets a call from work. According to him, the manager he had watching the gym had to go home because his wife just had an emergency, and he had to go back in- which effectively ruined my plans of giving him a tour of _my_ bedroom.

          ‘ _There’s always another day.’_ I think to myself as I send him off with a wink and a very long good-night kiss that turns him pink again after he pays for dinner.


	5. Glorfindel: The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The second part and conclusion to the date. I hope you enjoy! Glorfindel hasn't done this sort of thing for a while, but it doesn't stop him from trying, and he may just have a thing for tattoos once this is over.

                I drop Tauriel off at school today- not that she doesn’t usually like the walk, but it’s raining, and I’d prefer her stay warm and dry as long as she can, and visit Legolas in the hospital. He’s got some good news- apparently, they’ve been able to move forward with the trials after all, thanks in part to my psychopathic cousin Fëanor **.** It’s about damn time something he did ends up good for someone else.

                I make plans to take him home with me tomorrow; he’s spent almost a month in here, and now that he’s only on crutches, it’s a good time to get him used to the new place. The room’s been painted, and I ended up not getting the wallpaper after all- he says he’d like to paint on it, if possible, and I readily agreed. There’s new furniture in there now, and I tell him that under no circumstances is he to entertain Tauriel’s ideas of going anywhere for the next 2 months. He seems amused by this, and I leave after dropping off a bag of incredibly unhealthy snack foods that are immensely better tasting than the hospital food.

                Next is my own appearance because I have absolutely nothing to do today. I end up getting nervous enough that I just end up wearing an old pair of jeans and go out and buy a new shirt. I’ve looked up Fat Cat’s and I’m not sure it’s as ‘casual’ as he makes it seem, but I don’t want to go there in a suit or slacks and overdress him. Or should I? It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve been on a date completely alone with a guy as younger than me as he is. There’s the unhappy thought that he’s closer to _Tauriel’s_ age than he is mine, but I resolutely push it to the back of my mind. He’s over 21, and old enough to make his own choices.

                And there’s really nothing to do, so I go through a car wash, clean out my truck, and proceed to veg out in front of the TV until 7:40-ish. His bike, all black and chrome except for the Harley logo, is parked up front, so I go in.

                He’s already sitting down, so I wave off the hostess and go have a seat. At first, I think he’s wearing a strange shirt with colorful sleeves, and then I remember his tattoos. They covered everything from his wrists on both arms to where the sleeves covered his upper arms, and were- for tattoos, I suppose- pretty well done. Who am I kidding? I don’t know the first things about tattoos except my mom and teachers always told us to stay away from people with tattoos as they weren’t ‘quite right’. Well damn, if he’s not quite right, I’m okay with that. There’s something about that candlelight that makes him look- well, if I was religious, I’d say heavenly. I have the sudden notion that he tends a little more towards devilish, and decide I’m okay with that.

                He smiles at me, and there’s something about that sly little smirk that makes something in my gut grow a little warm. We chat for a while, and I let him order for us- I don’t know the first thing about this food, but he seems to know it well, and demands that I try some strange benny-ay. I have to ask him about everything, which is slightly embarrassing, but he doesn’t laugh or poke fun at me- now that I think about it, generally his laughter is good-natured. It’s less ‘making fun of’ and more finding something genuinely amusing.

                I have to admit that the Jambalaya is good, and dutifully try some of his Gumbo, which is spicy enough to make me reach for my iced tea. I’ve got no idea what’s considered rude or polite to ask about tattoos, but I’m curious- these aren’t the rough gang marks or ugly prison tattoos, so I suppose they’re well done.

                And then there’s a thinly veiled suggestion that he take off his shirt, and I have to explain to my lower regions that we are not going camping, so there’s no need for that tent. And fantasies for one of them? Oh, I’m starting to have my fair share, and he does little things, like look my way when running his fingers over ink-filled skin that make me think he’s doing this on purpose. It’s a game well-played, and I’m ensnared- just like he probably wants me.

                If this is a trap, I’ll come willingly. Before I know it, my hand is on his arm as well, and I wonder if he feels that sudden heat like I do. I think he must by the way he looks at me, so I press a little harder than I probably need to, and let my hands do the talking. Well, hand, but I’m debating letting the other one join in too, and seeing how he feels about leaving a little bit before dessert. Judging by the comment about ‘playing my cards right’, he’ll be perfectly fine with it. I’m sure I’ll be embarrassed about this later, but I pretty much ask him how he wants this to go. Oh, I need to stop lying to myself. “What cards would I have to play for that?” This guy is good- he’s got me begging, and I haven’t even seen him shirtless yet. This is fast for me, but who car- and then there’s a waitress, and I’m reminded that I’m in public. Yes, I’m with an admittedly _very_ attractive man, but that doesn’t excuse terrible manners.

                Still, I’m debating the pros and cons of his house or mine for an embarrassingly long while before he asks me to dance. Crap.

                The one thing I cannot do- that’s not completely honest, I can’t do a lot of things, but dancing I’m especially bad at. Usually, the whole “I can’t dance” thing ends a date before it really begins, but it doesn’t throw him off for a second.

                It takes a few tries, but eventually I let him take the lead in this, and we’re sort-of dancing. Pulling him right up next to me so that we’re touching probably wasn’t necessary, but him tugging at the hairs on the back of my neck probably wasn’t either. We both inhale sharply at a vibration that hits somewhere it probably shouldn’t go, and his eyes are almost completely black, but then I realize it’s my phone. We go back to the table where I pull out my card before he can even get out his wallet- I _did_ tell him that I’d get him dinner- and call Turgon back.

                Apparently his wife, Elenwe, took their daughter, Idril, skating, and she had a nasty fall. Although it completely screwed any hope I had of getting laid, I told him to head up to the hospital, that I’d take the rest of tonight. Erestor did seem disappointed, but there’s a kiss that we both have to end for need of breath, so I suppose I did _something_ right.

                And damn if that image of playing with tattoos on his thighs isn’t going to stay with me for a while. Fantasies indeed.


End file.
